


If I Had a Heart

by Joel7th



Category: Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (Movie), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Charles and Erik are deities, David and Walter are homunculi, Fantasy AU, M/M, Mild Gore, light David 8/Walter, mention of Shadow King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: Charles gave Erik his heart.
Relationships: David 8/Walter, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	If I Had a Heart

_If I had a heart I could love you_ _  
If I had a voice I would sing  
After the night when I wake up  
I'll see what tomorrow brings_

 _(Fever Ray_ – _If I Had a Heart_ )

The thick gate inched open, groaning like a crone on her deathbed while it did, as Charles not so much as chanted but gritted out the incantation. His voice was as rusty as the cogwheels in its mechanism, its oiling schedule long overdue, and every word felt as though it had been chewed over and spat out. There was hardly any elegance in the way he ordered the gate to open, and Charles couldn’t help a bitter smile that turned into a grimace in recollection of Erik’s praise for his spell-casting ability in their initial encounter, which seemed like centuries ago, and in fact, was. At first he’d thought the other deity had mocked him because why not, Charles had been but a fledging, but then earnest had come crashing into his mind in waves when he took on Erik’s invitation to read him. He was worn out, body and soul, and elegance was at the bottom of his priorities. Years of willfully constraining his divinity in a mortal vessel had taken its toll on him, and for what? Nothing. He’d returned empty-handed as when he’d left. A sense of failure penetrated him deeply like an obsidian blade, and he clutched his chest, hunching and putting a sweaty palm flat against the uneven surface of the door for support. The world went dead for a while, during which time only two things were alive: the throbbing ache behind his ribs and deafening palpitations in his ears. He gasped for air and then had to remind himself that it was superfluous — breathing was one of the many mortal habits he had adopted for his guise and it lingered even after his human skin had been shed.

The heart cried and tried to break free when its owner was near, Charles thought, massaging his chest through the fabric of his dampened shirt as if to console the glob of flesh inside, seemingly having developed a mind of its own. He succeeded, as he’d done so many times before, and it felt less like a solid fist banging on his eardrums, urging his blood to race. The heart wasn’t quiet — it never was — but its clamor had been reduced to murmur, and that he could bear. Charles straightened himself, not missing the mass of scratches and chips he didn’t remember to have seen on the gate’s surface since the last time he locked it down. Some looked relatively new while others appeared to be almost as old as when he left, but they all sure didn’t look like the usual wear and tear. His guts knotted with untimely worry as he ordered the gate to close with a reverse incantation, and hurried into the cavernous structure.

Charles felt them before his gaze landed on them, two shining cubes like twin beacons in the dim nothingness, with edges that cut like razors. Human minds, which he’d spent the last centuries diving in, didn’t have a concrete shape and they were free to morph into any shapes and sizes to accommodate the current thoughts, and as far as he’d learned about humans, some of them particularly thought _big_. But these children were no humans no matter how their appearance could easily fool mortal eyes and even some fledglings’ less experienced ones. They were Charles’s prized creations and Charles wasn’t known among his peers to be anything less than a perfectionist.

He stretched his mental appendages and brushed against the mirror-like surfaces of the cubes in lieu of greeting. The cubes rippled, radiating alertness and a second later, he was faced with the points of twin blades. Charles grinned tiredly, pleased with their prompt reaction; he knew he had taught them well enough to entrust this place and its sole inhabitant to them in his absence. It appeared they had not failed him.

He reached out and smoothed the sharp tongues of the blades with his fingertips, unafraid of mentally cutting himself. “It’s been so long,” he said. “Hello, David, Walter.”

The blades wavered before melting away and he was presented with two perfect cubes again. “Master Charles, welcome back.” In his ears he heard two voices speak in flawless unison while his eyes swept around the concave space and he breathed in the familiar atmosphere that had been somewhat alienated by time. A clear, dewy scent brought about a pang of nostalgia. Home, his mind voice whispered, breathless and exhilarated. Not just a dwelling he’d built with novice clumsiness in his first years as a fledging so that he had a place to return to or the sadly neglected cottage he’d inhabited as a human, but a home in every sense.

And home was where the heart was.

Right now Charles was looking at his heart, propped against the tall back of the rosewood chair, with his long, bony fingers relaxing and resting on the gilded armrests. His eyes were open, the colors in them flowing like liquids and constantly shifting with the lights and angles, and they were staring straight at Charles’s direction.

The heart behind Charles’s ribs was quiet, so quiet it was almost nonexistent, while only moments ago it had been a restless wild thing. He could barely feel his pulses.

Charles crossed the distance between them in three long strides until he saw his reflection in the vitreous, unblinking eyes — always looking, never seeing, and it had been like that for centuries. He tried to subdue the sinking sensation in his chest and cupped the face in his hands, reveling briefly in the hum of life force beneath smooth and warm skin. His Erik, still going strong in spite of the flux of time. It wasn’t until the knot in his guts was untwisted by a flush of relief did Charles realize how unfounded his earlier worry had been: despite his current state, Erik was still a formidable deity whose ancient powers far surpassed Charles’s, and there were only a handful beings who could put his wellbeing in jeopardy. His thumbs stroked the prominent jawline, finding no signs of stubbles; the twins had done an impeccable grooming job. “I’m home, Erik,” he murmured, bringing his face closer and closer until it was only hairbreadth between Erik’s lips and his own. “And I miss you so much I think I’ve gone insane.”

The confession transitioned seamlessly into the soft press of his lips against Erik’s. It started chaste — it always did, their short-lived prelude before the primal sides took over — until a mix of longing and desire, wrapped up in a shroud of desperation, flared up. The kiss turned open-mouthed and the tip of his tongue traced the seam of Erik’s lips in a fruitless attempt to kindle a fire from ash while he let loose his mind to chase after the phantoms of passionate encounters. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes as the floodgate of memories was allowed to open for a moment.

All his actions were met with passivity, and though he had expected it, Charles couldn’t help inhaling lengthily at the stab of pain in the center of his chest. With grim reality weighing on his shoulders, he herded his memories with Erik to a safe corner in his head and pulled back to finally register the physical presences flanking either side of Erik’s chair.

“You did well,” Charles complimented, looking over at two identical faces and was temporarily distracted by the constant shift of colors in their eyes as they stood facing the light, which also highlighted their sharp features, their sculpted jaws in particular. Charles had been meticulous in recreating every aesthetic trait and his effort showed in the uncanny resemblance when the two of them were put in the same picture as Erik, which sometimes gave off creepy vibes even Charles as their creator wasn’t immune to. He often wondered how Erik would comment once he woke and found out Charles had made a pair of homunculi in his image. He hoped for the best that Erik would only chalk it up as one of Charles’s eccentricities and not think that Charles had aimed for substitutes.

“Thank you, Master,” they said, bowing forty-five degree in flawless synchronicity.

“The scratches and chips on the gate,” Charles said, gesturing vaguely to the entrance, “were there many attacks?”

“There were several, but none had breached the gate.” It was the blond one that answered while his brunette twin was nursing a comfortable silence, eyes on their maker and looking content to let his brother do the talking for both of them. Charles had not crafted them with specific personality or quirks in mind, and he was even surprised, but not appalled, to learn that they were capable of growth. It was perhaps unadvisable to allow his creations autonomy — Erik for sure wouldn’t quite approve — but Charles was never known to confine himself to conventional thinking, and he saw no harm in letting them decide which of them should be the voice or whether they would like to distinguish themselves from their twin by having a yellow head.

Charles’s gaze followed the line of Walter’s neck down to his shoulder and zeroed in a missing in his anatomy. “Your hand, Walter,” he commanded, eyebrows crunched up, and the brunette held up his right wrist up for a closer inspection. He could tell by the hardened tissues and jagged bone jutting from the stump that it hadn’t been a neat cut. Nor had it been recent.

“There was one who had the ability to phase through objects, even those protected by spells. I made a mistake and he got very close. I’m sorry,” Walter said in a voice that sounded thicker than David’s — another point of distinction. “David patched me up.”

Charles frowned at David’s handiwork which clearly suggested a cauterization and shook his head. “Apparently wound treatment isn’t his forte. Were you in pain?”

David stole a quick guilty glance at his brother’s impassive face as Walter replied, “No, not so much. He actually got better while you were gone.”

Charles snorted. It was hard to tell with his matter-of-fact tone and poker face whether Walter was defending or mocking his brother, which could be both because the boy’s rare sense of humor was often dry as a bone. He found it even more amusing with David’s subtly betrayed expression.

“Hold still,” Charles instructed, cradling Walter’s wrist in his hands. Words of a long-lost tongue streamed out and solidified as he chanted, voice steady and smooth, into a whip of blue light to coil around the stumped wrist. Walter’s eyes widened while David skipped to his brother’s side, his face lit up and all sharp angles melted in a barely concealed look of child-like curiosity. In this moment he looked not so much a carbon copy of an ancient god but rather an excited puppy, which was precisely why Charles had managed not to grit out each syllable.

His hand lingered even when the spell was complete, fingers idly stroking the back of Walter’s hand for a few more seconds before with one final pat, he relinquished his hold. “How’s that?” he asked, but already knew it was perfect. How his mind had memorized the bone structure and skin texture of that hand like it was his own.

Walter flexed his restored hand, unspoken admiration spelled out in the small crease between his brows as he eyed each digit. Next to him David was wearing an awed expression. “It feels very good. Thank you, Master Charles,” Walter said, bowing.

“Good to hear that. Now I need you to help me with something.” He turned to David. “David, be dear and get the knives out, will you?”

...

The marble felt cold against his back, especially so as he was naked from his waist up. Charles turned his head to the side, finding Erik on the twin slab of marble placed parallel to his own. Like Charles, he laid bare-chested, mutely facing the domed ceiling. Charles shut his eyes, sparing himself a pinch from that doll-like expression because no matter how many he convinced himself he’d gotten used to it, he just didn’t.

David had brought out the knives, wrapped in a goatskin swathe, untied the cord and set them out on the marble slab. Sleek black obsidian knives that glided through divine flesh like a hot knife through butter. Looming over Charles, David took one knife into his hand, wielding it like a surgeon did a scalpel while his brother did the same. Light bounced off the sleek edge and was sucked into the conglomerate of colors of his irises. “Are you ready, Master Charles?” he asked, wearing a serene expression, all traces of earlier excitement washed off.

Charles gave a light nod. “Be sure to relate my message to him. I can count on you for that, can’t I?”

“Of course, Master.”

“Good,” he said, patting David’s forearm, bared because he had rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s begin.”

Charles registered no pain even when he felt acutely the tip of the knife dig into his chest. The runes carved along its body ensured that it cut, but never pained. His jaws relaxed and lips parted, he watched with a surreal sense his borrowed heart being cooped out from his open chest, each wild beat fueled by the joy of liberty spurting blood onto the pair of hands that were holding it with reverence, until fat ruby drops were seeping through the crevices between pale, graceful fingers. He felt feather-light and hollow as though everything inside was liquefied and dripping on the floor like water from a cracked vessel. He found himself counting the pitter-patters as a way to hold onto his consciousness, which was starting to drift. David’s face — or was it Walter’s — appeared in his dotted vision and his lips were moving but Charles’s ears were stuffed with cotton, as was his mouth when he tried responding to the boy. A blindfold descended on his leaded eyelids, summoning an inevitable darkness to swallow up his mind.

...

His own face was not the first thing he anticipated to see after he opened his eyes, truly opened them, and saw.

The moment the domed ceiling came into focus, he had been anxiously counting the seconds until he was greeted with the heart-throbbing sight of radiant blue eyes. If he could move he would, but his limbs felt stiff from prolonged inactivity and it should take a while for them to wake up. So in the meantime, he had to settle with lying on the cold marble slab, enduring his heartbeats thundering in his ears. It was when he realized that he had a heart, that his heart had returned to fill the cavity in his chest.

... which meant...

His blood spiked and then immediately took a dive when his own face instead of Charles’s came in his vision. His own face framed by carefully groomed blond hair, which he instantly and inexplicably disliked due to some deep-seated aversion he’d had towards a goddess with a literal diamond figure.

“Master Erik, welcome back.”

He saw his blond doppelgänger’s mouth moved but heard two voices. Tilting his head, Erik was only mildly surprised to see yet another, this time a brunette with a rather less expressive expression. “How many are you?” he asked.

“Just the two of us,” the blond one said. “My name’s David and he’s Walter. May we assist you?”

Erik declined David’s hand by managing to sit up on his own. With his heart back in place, pumping life through his entire body, he began to feel the strength flooding his limbs. He might run and even leap into the sky in a few more moments.

He finally saw Charles. Lying on the bed of cold marble and seemingly blending into it due to the pallor of his skin, eyes sealed shut and chest even.

His heart stilled at the haunting sight of Sleeping Beauty, under a spell that required much more than a true love’s kiss to break, and for a few prolonged moments it felt like his chest was hollowed again. With trembling knees he slid off the marble slap, and would stumble if it weren’t for David’s reflex. This time Erik accepted his aid in crossing a couple steps to Charles’s side.

Charles’s cheek was cool again his palm, but he could sense the echo of powers flowing beneath his skin. They hummed to him when he reached out with his own powers whereas Charles’s mind was a silent void.

“Charles created you.”

“Yes, Master Charles made us to mind this place.” It was the blond one — David — who answered.

“And _me_ , it seems. How very like him,” Erik chuckled drily, although there was an endearing undertone in his second sentence. Charles had joked about making ‘children’ once, and Erik shouldn’t be surprised when those ‘children’ turned out to have been modeled after him. Charles himself might have forgotten that passing remark but Erik remembered in vivid details how his heart had fluttered when the blue-eyed fledging had called him “beautiful”. The very same moment he had come to a conclusion that Charles would be the death of him.

“Master Charles has a message for you,” David said, exchanging a quick look with his twin before Erik heard Charles’s voice coming out of his mouth. “I am sorry, Erik, for I have failed you again.”

Erik let out a soft breath. “I see,” he said, to no-one in particular. He should have foreseen this outcome when he felt his first heartbeat in centuries.

Maybe that was for the best, he mused. He should have been the one to track down the Shadow King and recover Charles’s heart even when that sinister being lurked in the minds of men and Charles’s powers seemed more suited for the task. Still, hunting was his excelled field while Charles’s leaned towards creating and healing, and he had a hundred methods to drag his prey out from their lair, mental or physical. But then the thought of Charles, who had been so full of life, as a living corpse had _killed_ him, and he had shoved his heart into Charles’s chest faster than he could think. It had been a selfish mistake which had cost them centuries.

Not this time, Erik decided.

“David and — Walter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master Erik?” Two voices, one response.

He stood up with no aid and a lot more grace than before — having steady knees helped. He was more grateful though by the fact that every metal in the vicinity shouted out with zeal when he tentatively extended his powers.

“I need you to do for Charles what you did for me.”

...

There was hardly any elegance in the way he ordered the gate to open, and frankly Erik couldn’t care less about elegance. Elegance was Charles’s thing while Erik’s priorities lied in efficiency and getting things done, no matter the cost. He closed his eyes, feeling the metal skeleton of the chair on which Charles sat and through it, the outline and warmth of Charles’s body. He had not felt Charles’s lips once since his awakening. No, that was for the day of his return, bringing the Shadow King’s head and his beloved’s heart.

Nothing matched love and hatred’s strength to motivate a man, and he had both in his ancient heart.

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story where Charles gave Erik his heart, metaphorically and literally and after some zigzagging, this came into being. Since I love David and Walter from Alien: Covenant and the pairing Dalter, I tried to include them as well.
> 
> The title came from Fever Ray’s If I Had a Heart.


End file.
